


Reruns All Become Our History

by BabylonsFall



Series: Warp & Weft [4]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s01e07 And the Rule of Three, Gen, Pre-Canon, does this deserve an angst tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: None of the Librarians had a great relationship with school, looking back on it. The trip to the STEM fair brings up its fair share of memories.





	Reruns All Become Our History

**Author's Note:**

> So this series has basically become my writer's block fix (or, at least, something to focus on as I try to fix my writer's block) as I rewatch the Librarians from the beginning.
> 
> Purposefully hand-wavy on timelines, as per usual, but I like how this one turned out! Hope you do too!

Cassandra knew each trophy. Where it was placed in her room - which shelf it belonged on, when it was placed there, why it was next to the others, and, most importantly, the moment she got each one. Each and every one a moment of pride, a pinpointed second she could look back on and remember the look in her parents’ eyes. Even if she hadn’t been proud of herself - of the numbers in her head making sense long enough to produce something amazing, astounding ( _ she did that! _ ) - the looks her parents gave her would have more than made up for it.

(Looking back on it, she’ll regret the amount of focus she put into getting each trophy. Not the actual acquiring of them - she’ll keep that feeling close to her chest as long as she can, keep those memories clear and bright - but… the life around it. She would shift some things around, later.)

At the time though, she wanted nothing more. She didn’t hurt for friends, because she was too busy throwing her all into her projects, lighting up with delight at another trophy and her parents’ pride. She didn’t hurt for time, because all she had went into reaching higher, going farther, and what chance did time stand against her and her mind? She could see her future unfolding before her, and it was bright, so bright, and she couldn’t wait.

(Later - later she’d look back with a soft sigh and a fragile smile. Friends wouldn’t have helped - not really, the damage was done after she’d left after all. Time wouldn’t have helped - all she had was time. Time to choose, time to watch, time to fall. She doesn’t know what she would have changed really. Just that something… something should have been different.)

High school was her stage, and she performed beautifully. College was right around the corner, and she couldn’t wait.

(Watching Amy perform on that same stage… She was breaking. And she just. She couldn’t watch that happen from the outside, knowing how it felt from the inside. Something should have been different for her, something  _ can  _ be different for Amy.)

She knew the moment it crumbled. It wasn’t with the diagnosis - no. That’s not right. There wasn’t a  _ moment _ . There was a series of events, that she could trace, and retrace, and tangle around, that all ended the same.

The diagnosis. An empty room that once shone bright. Looks that passed right through her, dark and dull. The choice to leave. To approach this new, uncertain future as best she could. She knew the end point after all. She had the propped up remains of the beginning point.

She could do this.

(She didn’t even care that Ezekiel stole the trophy. That bright look? Was all she needed. She knew exactly where she was going to put the trophy, and that feeling that came with it was getting curled up tight next to the others, clear and beautiful and exactly what she needed.)

\---

It wasn’t often they could drag Ezekiel into a school. It wasn’t necessarily a fight he had to go through - that would imply he was actually there to, you know, argue with. It was all too easy to slip off school grounds, disappear if he wanted to - no one was really looking, would really look when they noticed he was gone, after all.

Sometimes he stayed. Out of boredom, out of curiosity, out of a general desire to screw with whatever authority figure had caught him this time. It was a game, and, given the right incentive, he’d play along.

He almost never stayed long enough to make friends - acquaintances, sure; enemies, definitely - rarely stayed long enough to learn his teachers’ names. He’s a little too odd, a little too stuck on the edges. Everyone can see his foot out the door a mile away. So, he sticks to the peripherals, and they seem content to leave him be.

He stayed long enough to figure the place out. Who was who, who did what and why, who to avoid and who to poke with the proverbial stick. Or the literal one. The patterns weren’t hard to pick out. They didn’t change much, from place to place.

(Walking back into the school gave him a serious case of déjà vu. He wasn’t sure he liked it.)

When he stuck around long enough to actually do the work, rather than just waiting for that next week to skip out on his way, he was always torn between being absolutely delighted by the disbelief, and insulted. He wasn’t stupid - he knew what he knew, and he knew how to find what he didn’t. Just because he didn’t always have the finer details mastered didn’t mean he was completely hopeless - he had just enough to back up his bullshit and get by, and that was all he cared about.

So he couldn’t break down Shakespeare's greatest works. How many of his classmates could code around retinal scanners for a massive security supplier?

...Okay, not an overly common skill, or even overly useful skill. Which was probably for the best. If everyone did it, they’d start working on ways to prevent it, which would be annoying to fix, so there’s that.

(On the whole, he still doesn’t get the point of it all. Everything he learned, he learned on his own. School was a game to play when he was bored, not a stepping stone to get ahead. He still can’t help but feel like Cassandra deserves better. So, he may not care about all of this, but she did, and does. The least he can do is use what he learned - on his own - to give her a little piece of it. For whatever reason she wants it.)

\---

It’s not that Jacob hates school. His high school is full of teachers who never saw the bright little kid he used to be - full of questions, brimming with answers, and absolutely ecstatic to get his hands on anything new to read. They never saw it, so when he turned up freshman year, eyeing a letterman jacket hopefully and doing his damnedest to sneak by unnoticed, they never suspected.

It isn’t their fault, not really. Too many kids, too many tests, too many expectations placed on a thin budget and willing, but tired minds. He did enough work to pass, spent his time on the field when he could, and generally just floated by.

No one is expecting him to go anywhere, so a scholarship isn’t needed. No one is expecting him to leave, so applications are never brought up. Everyone knew exactly where he would end up - an oil rigger, just like his Pop. Just like his granddad. Just like his kids will probably be - so they leave well enough alone.

So, no, it’s not that he hates school. Its another mask, another layer to the one he wears at home. He doesn’t hate it, because it’s all he has, and he’s not cynical enough yet to hate himself that much.

(Yet.)

He has his moments. Where, maybe, someone will see through him. Books spilling out of his backpack, an answer he’s a little too tired to hold back, a practice delayed because he had to sneak out of the library after losing track of time.

The first time he purposely slips up, let a little of his mask crack away for someone (and it was cheesy, and stupid, and heartfelt, and so perfectly  _ high school  _ that he can’t even begrudge himself for it later) … well, it’d be too dramatic to say it’s also the last. It’s not - he’s still a kid, still has a lot to learn, a lot of his mask to glue back in place. But it sticks in his mind, almost as well as the bruises stuck around that month.

The next time they try, he hits back harder. Fights longer. Burrows a little deeper under his mask so no one can doubt. It’s not the last time someone gives him shit over it, but it does keep them off his back for awhile.

His Pop doesn’t ask after the shiner, that month, or the one before, and he doesn’t offer.

(Even looking back on it, trying to tell this kid  _ not _ to be him, not to relive his mistakes, he can’t say he hated it. It was his life. It was how it was. He can’t bring himself to hate that, hate what eventually made him what he is. Not that he has to like what he became, but that’s a completely different problem.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come visit me on [ tumblr](https://distinctivelibrarians.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk about the Librarians - or wanna toss a prompt my way
> 
> Comments, critiques, and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> (Title from Name by the Goo Goo Dolls)


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